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Monday, March 4, 2013

I am 45 and a half years old. It is funny how time passes and here we are. Ages that seemed so foreign when I was 10. 25, 30, 40, 70. Some of those ages seemed like different planets from my youthful vantage point. I remember calculating that I would be 32 in the year 2000. It seemed like a future I could not imagine. Would I even be alive? But 32 has come and gone. I was alive. I was living, raising young children, training to be a Waldorf teacher. It was pleasant and full, 32. The trouble I am having right now, at 45, is why has it taken me so long to love myself? Truly love myself for all of my shortcomings, my mistakes, my triumphs? My husband gets frustrated with me that I am never satisfied with my good work, that I seem surprised when I excel. Shit, you got me. I don't know.

I just recently decided to speak more kindly to myself. Really sweetly, like you would speak to a pudgy handed toddler. Patient, full of love and fully honoring kind of speech. It feels good. It motivates me to do things I have been putting off. It inspires me to look more softly at my reflection in the mirror. It is easier than I thought it would be, I would dare say I wish I had not waited so long, but that wouldn't be very nice...Xo.